


Coming Home

by soulgyrl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Parentlock, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgyrl/pseuds/soulgyrl
Summary: A light little love story....  ( I did some editing, somehow a line got deleted when I posted...sorry about that.)





	

John Watson flew bolt upright. It was happening again. Night terrors. He could never remember exactly what took place in them, but he woke literally shaking and drenched in sweat. Couldn’t remember what happened in them, that is, until tonight.

 _Tonight, he was at war. It was a vast desert with one small cinder block building that had been largely gutted...probably a bomb. He was injured, his left leg had been badly burned, and his right shoulder sported a great, gaping wound. His vision was blurred from a constant dribble of blood flowing over his right eye, and his left was practically swollen shut. He wiped the blood away and tried to stand. He tried to stand, but the pain in his leg was excruciating and it buckled underneath him sending him tumbling on top of a body. It was then he took in his surroundings. All around him were bodies…or parts of them. He looked into the face of the man he had landed on: a stranger. He crawled over to where three more were lying, but he didn’t recognize any of them. It was the same with all the others. How can I not know these men? They are with me ...we’re a team. Aren’t we? He spotted two more bodies lying in a far corner that he hadn’t noticed before. They were not dressed for combat. Civilian clothing? He made his way to them, he turned them over…_ And that’s when he’d quickly sat up. He had found himself staring into the dead eyes of Sherlock and Mary.

John pushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead and breathed deeply. He was about to lay back down when… _wait...was that….singing?_ _It couldn’t be._ But, it _was_. He consulted at his clock on the night stand… 2:46 am. Why would he be awake now, but, of course, Sherlock must be down there being, well…Sherlock.

It had been a smart decision, moving back here to Baker Street six months ago. Mrs. Hudson was the grandmother figure Rosie needed. The lady was ready and willing to help out with any needed childcare in a pinch. And Sherlock absolutely _doted_ on the child. _And_ it had certainly lightened his financial strain. To say nothing of being back under the same roof with the man…he loved. Yes, no sense denying it: he loved him. It was what it was. He really needed to find a way to approach Sherlock with this. It was ridiculous to go on pretending.

John figured he may as well check on Rosie while he was awake and went over to her crib in the left-hand corner of the room. Only to find it empty. A rush of panic nearly choked him. “Jesus,” he whispered, and quickly made his way down the stairs. He reached the landing and the doorway to the living room…and halted.

Sherlock was sitting, near one of the front windows in the heavy oak rocker he had insisted they purchase at auction right after John and Rosie moved in. Mary had never really wanted one, a fact which Sherlock could not understand, I mean, didn’t rockers go with babies like biscuits with tea? And now, there, nestled in Sherlock’s arms, was a sleeping baby Rosie…red cheeked, a tiny hint of a smile on her pouty lips. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and he was gently rocking and softly singing:

_Sleep, baby, sleep….your father tends the sheep…and I will shake the dreamland tree…and from it fall sweet dreams for thee…sleep, baby, sleep…_

John was momentarily frozen. The sight before him caused such a rush of emotion that he had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. His eyes filled with tears and he sat down on his haunches. He was consumed with….love….so much love. The two people he cherished more than his own life were there before him, engaged in the most peaceful scene possible. Sherlock’s voice eventually wafted off, and within minutes John could hear him faintly snoring. He sat, enraptured, watching the two, for he knew not how long.

He wrestled with the idea of waking Sherlock and putting Rosie back in her crib, or letting the two continue sleeping in the rocker. Eventually, a cramp in the leg forced him up and he decided to leave them slumbering as they were. He gave them one last look and turned for the stairs. 

_John….John……_

The loud whisper stopped him and he turned around.

Sherlock gave an awkward smile and looked at John questioningly. “I…I hope you don’t mind. You were…fussing. Rather loudly. It...it woke Rosie. I didn’t want to bother you, so I brought her down here.”

John lowered his head, shook it, and laughed lightly. He looked back up at Sherlock and smiled. He spoke softly. “You _never_ cease to amaze me, you know that? So now... we’ve got the magic touch with babies, do we? Of course, I don’t mind. In fact, I appreciate it. Very much so.”

Sherlock stood. “Shall we take her back to her crib? I think she’s pretty well fast asleep now.”

The two men tenderly, quietly returned the dozing child to her bed. Sherlock placed his hand lightly on John’s shoulder. “Would…would you mind coming back down to the living room with me…for just a bit,” he whispered into his ear,  “I...I’ve been thinking. There’s something I’d like to run by you; just a….an idea.”

They returned to the living room and took places on the couch. John spoke.

“Before we get into…whatever it is you want to talk about…tell me, was this the first night that I ‘fussed’ as you put it? I’ve had these recurring dreams…nasty, I think. I usually don’t remember them much, until tonight, and this is the first time it woke me up.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Actually, John, yes…yes you have. This is _not_ the first time I’ve…I’ve …well ‘rescued’ Rosie. But tonight did seem to be the worse. You were _literally_ crying out. I think your daughter was a bit...frightened. She really loves to be sung to… did you know that? I do believe she _really_ likes me, John. She holds her arms out. I…I rather like it. Okay...I love it. I do hope you’re alright with this. I don’t mean to overstep my bounds.”

John’s eyes misted a bit. He reached out and took Sherlock’s hand. “God, Sherlock, you’re not going to overstep your bounds. I’m so grateful for,” and here he swept his arm out across the room, “...all of this. I really feel like I’ve…come home. Mary would be very pleased to see how you are with Rosie, you know that. She’d be happy to see how it is with…all three of us. With you and me.  I’m happy here, Sherlock. I don’t think I’ve been this happy in years. Mary and I had some good times, I won’t lie. Things just got so…fucked up. So very fucked up.” John’s voice cracked.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock comforted, “I wouldn’t want it any other way….you being here I mean. It was…horrible here without you. The way it is now….  I…I ache over the thought that Rosie has lost her mother, and I can never pretend to be able to make up for that, but, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to help you provide a…a home for her; a _stable_ home…one with love. For…forever, I hope. Please say you’ll stay. John, please say you won’t leave.” Now, Sherlock’s eyes were misty.

“I intend to stay as long as you’ll have me…us. Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

Sherlock looked down and started picking at his pajama bottoms. “I, um…was thinking. How would you feel about making the upstairs room into Rosie’s nursery? I mean, _solely_ into Rosie’s nursery. Decorating’s…not exactly my milieu… as well you know…but Mrs. Hudson has some wallpaper books with…well…kiddy designs and another with children’s furniture. She’s offered to do out the whole thing and…”

“Wait,” John held up a hand, “if the _whole_ room is made into a nursery, where is dear old dad supposed to sleep? Or is there a man-sized crib in that book of Mrs. Hudson’s? I’m joking, of course.”

Sherlock gave John one of his engaging lop-sided grins. “No….no crib. Not for you anyway. Actually, John, I…I have a solution for that.”

Sherlock’s heart was racing as he took one of John’s hands in his. “John, I have something to say. Mary was right…you…were right….even Mrs. Hudson…well, she’s _always_ been right. We _don’t_ have all the time in the world. Not for something’s anyway. And it’s...ridiculous really to keep skirting round the issue.” Here, Sherlock sucked in his breath. “John…John Hamish Watson….I…I love you. There. Dear god that felt so good to finally get that out. Oh, no sorry…I didn’t mean it that way, I...I just. Damn, I’m making a muck of this, aren’t I?”

John sat there….hardly believing what he had just heard. He brought Sherlock’s hands to his lips and gently kissed them. Finding his voice, he spoke.

“Sherlock, I…I’m surprised… a bit…I guess, but….not really. I think this is something we have both been trying to…well, not ignore actually, maybe ‘closing our eyes to’ is more like it, anyway…I love you, too…desperately sometimes, if I’m completely honest. Of course you know that. You must do. And so does everyone else, apparently. And with that, am I to understand that you are inviting me to your bedroom…to share your bed. Because that’s what it sure sounds like.”

“Umm...yes…yes…that’s what it is,” Sherlock answered, placing an arm around John’s shoulder. He began speaking in a fast-paced, Sherlock style, “unless it’s… too…sudden. We could bring your bed down.  I think we could make it fit with a little rearranging. Of course we could always get rid of them both and get twin sized ones, or perhaps even….”

“Whoa, whoa…” John jumped in. “Sherlock…that’s fine. It’s…fine. There’s no need to buy another bed. Actually, maybe we should get rid of _both_ of them and buy a bigger one. And…we don’t exactly need to broadcast this to all and sundry; at least not yet. I mean, I’m sure people will figure it out. And of course Mrs. Hudson’s going to know.”

Sherlock laughed. “Mrs. Hudson already has it all figured out. And John, I promise to do all I can to…to make you happy. And Rosie. I really do love you.”

John smiled, and reaching up, caressed Sherlock’s cheek. “You’ve already made me very happy, Sherlock. I know there will be rough patches, there _always_ are in a relationship, but we’ve already been through hell and back, so I’d say we’re good on that front. We know how to weather shit rather bloody well.”

Sherlock took John in his arms…and kissed him, full and deep. They parted and sat together side by side for some time in silence, John’s head on Sherlock’s shoulder,  reveling in the notion that the other was near and their love was secure. After a time, John looked towards the windows. “Damn, is that the sun coming up already? I should try to get at least a couple hours in before Rosie gets up for the day.”

Sherlock gave John’s hand a pat. “Why don’t you go have a lay down in my bed? No arguments… I’ll just stay here on the couch. I’ll hear Rosie if she wakes. We should look into getting one of those baby monitor thingy’s too, I expect. Now then…off you go. If you’re still sleeping past noon I’ll wake you. I’m sure I can handle changing a couple of nappies and Mrs. Hudson might do the honors of giving Rosie a bath. We’ll manage.”

John smiled. “Well then, if you’re sure…. And we can pick up this conversation later, but Sherlock….thank you. I’m….glad we’ve finally…crossed the barrier and discussed this. Now, come get me if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll be with you both in a few hours. I love you.”

“I love you too, John…immensely.”

John retired to Sherlock’s room and soon found himself sleeping soundly. And the dreams came again. But, this time, they were filled with sun and laughter; filled with the sound of Sherlock cheerfully whistling while they strolled, hand in hand, along the seashore, a curly haired toddler happily playing in the sand. And all was right with the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> “For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.”  
> ― Stephanie Perkins


End file.
